


Locked Inside Your Temper Trap

by VeelaWings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Chubby Neville Longbottom, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Herbologist Neville Longbottom, M/M, Mild Professor Kink, Mild internalized body insecurities, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Professor Draco Malfoy, Professor Neville Longbottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:48:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23386918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeelaWings/pseuds/VeelaWings
Summary: This was a minor problem. Not the being trapped in a humid greenhouse with a sweaty, gorgeous Draco, mind you. No, it was being trapped with a sweaty, pissed off Draco who would inevitably blame Neville.Plus the obstacle of not having the privacy to enjoy a fast and dirty wank with all this evening’s material.
Relationships: Neville Longbottom/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 38
Kudos: 221
Collections: Lock Down Fest





	Locked Inside Your Temper Trap

**Author's Note:**

> This story is for Lockdown (Quarantine) Fest. Thank you to the mods for putting this shindig together during such a crazy time!
> 
> The biggest thank you to @laughingd0g for the fantastic beta help and encouragement! ...and for screaming with me at Neville. That horny bastard.
> 
> As always, please take care of yourself and see the tags before reading!

“Are you ready to head back to the castle, Draco?” Neville called out as he stood up from the row of muggle succulents he had planted last year. Most were still quite small but exceptionally charming. “It’s half-past eleven already,” he said, brushing most of the dirt off his hands, smearing what was left on the seat of his joggers. It was rather useless when the fabric also held dirt. 

“I didn’t mean to stay so late myself, not in greenhouse four anyways,” he chuckled, pushing sweaty hair back from his face before turning to face Draco in the patch behind him. “Got enough aloe vera for your potions?”  


“Hmm?” Draco jerked as if startled, looking confused - _adorable_ \- Neville’s mind supplied, glancing down at the small pile of aloe leaves he had carefully pruned. “Oh. No. Yes.” His slow nodding came to a stop when Neville lifted the ragged hem of his vest to wipe his face, excess sweat seeping out of his pores in what had to be a most unattractive fashion.  


Unlike Draco, with only a healthy flush and damp hair near his temples, the usual silvery-white turning into a brilliant blond. Weighing in a good three or five stone less than Neville probably helped, but Neville liked to think most of his own weight was muscle from all the greenhouse work and heavy lifting. When you didn’t count that wee bit around his middle.  


Or the large bit.  


The point was- Draco had grown up to be less pointy in his face these past seven years since their graduation while maintaining his svelte form. Neville suffered daily.  


Draco seemed to suffer from the heat and humidity judging by his flushed state and continuous spacing out. His pink tongue kept peeping out to swipe over his lips. They were probably chapped. Maybe one of his potions was for skincare. Not that Draco _needed_ it with his natural glow.  


Merlin, the heat seemed to be doing them both silly. “You good then? Need any help?” With only three small baskets and a pair of jars, Draco hadn’t seemed to collect much. Odd, considering the five hours they’d spent here, working in a quiet company. Felt more like fifteen with current elevated temperatures if Neville was being honest. Damn his love for tropical flora.  


“What?” Draco asked, not even looking up when Neville scratched at the hair below his navel before self-consciously pulling his vest back down.  


“Here,” Neville floated a passably clean mug over and filled it with a quick aguamenti. “Drink up. You’re probably dehydrated.”  


Draco followed instructions like a broom on autopilot before blinking back to himself, the subtle tightening around his mouth the only warning given. “Yes, but I fail to see how drinking mud would aid in replenishing my fluids in any way.”  


Draco and _his fluids_ were the last things Neville needed to ponder on. Or Draco with _Neville’s fluids_ , cream on porcelain-  


Merlin and Morgana both, they needed to escape this hellhole before Neville blathered on about embarrassing fantasy number 37.  


“Well if you want tea fixed to your standards, we need to go visit the professors’ lounge. C’mon.” Neville scooped up all three baskets on a muscled arm and sorted them to lay balanced, plopping one of the jars into the same hand. “You can’t enjoy a proper Saturday lie-in if you don’t get your beauty rest first.”  


“Is that how you plan on spending your first day of term break? Lounging in your sheets and leaving the responsibility of childcare to the rest of us?” Draco stood up with all the grace Neville’s bulky limbs could never manage and vanished all visible dirt from his summer robes with a prim swish of his wand. They were working in greenhouse _four_ and he was wearing _robes_. “Remind me why Minerva thought she should leave you in charge over the Easter holiday?”  


“Because you would enforce extra homework and Flitwick… well. No one will be forgetting last winter break anytime soon.” Or ever. Some WWW products were never meant to be modified by levitation charms. They both shivered from the ghastly memories.  


“It’s not considered homework if it’s not graded… that would give the students who stay back an unfair advantage. It’s practically cheating, Neville, have some sense of decorum.” Draco lifted his chin, exposing a thin sheen of sweat on his pale throat. “Now lower your wards, I’m in need of a bath.”  


“I didn’t raise them. We came in together, remember? Or has the heat done you in?” He used a simple colloportus… most likely. As far as he remembered. With no more than twenty kids staying back, Neville wasn’t too worried about being interrupted during their- well, it wasn’t a _date_. They weren’t like _that_. Despite all of Neville’s wishes.  


Draco sighed, shifting his jar to rest under his non-wand arm and sped through half a dozen unlocking spells, then advanced with another eight Neville had never even heard of.  


This was a minor problem. Not the being trapped in a humid greenhouse with a sweaty, gorgeous Draco, mind you. No, it was being trapped with a sweaty, pissed off Draco who would inevitably blame Neville.  


Plus the obstacle of not having the privacy to enjoy a fast and dirty wank with all this evening’s material.  


Draco had piled his long hair up into a bun this evening and the few loose stands framed his face beautifully. Neville hadn’t let himself get past a half chub in the present company but he was only human. He couldn’t watch Draco lick his lips much longer without accidentally offering to rub his cock head on them in its place.  


“-Neville?”  


Merlin, Morgana and Circe’s cunt. “Sorry?”  


Gray eyes flickered all the way down and back up in a scrupulous manner, a habit of Draco’s that always left Neville feeling distinctly naked and out of sorts. It left him fighting off a shiver that would guarantee a second look-over, no matter how slight it seemed to him. Draco never missed a single thing. Except for the blubbering mountain of feelings and lechery Neville had carried around for going on five years now.  


“I understand you’re worried about me and my terribly weak constitution,” Draco drawled, lips quirking down on one side. “But the heat isn’t doing your concentration any favors either. We need to leave, but the greenhouse isn’t letting us. If it wasn’t you and it obviously wasn’t me, please share your best guess with the class, Professor.” With a flick of his wand, all of the potion ingredients in their arms flew away to line themselves up against the wall near the door. Presumably out of the way so Draco could stride forward and curl his hands around Neville’s biceps in that tortuously familiar way of his. “I would like to take my bath before sunrise, Nev, if you don’t mind,” he whispered. “Some of us can’t pull off Eau de Soil.”  


“I think you smell wonderful,” Neville said faintly because he was always a nervous wreck under Draco’s friendliest touches.  


“Stop taking the piss,” Draco said, eyes sharp and palms mean, abruptly smacking Neville on the chest. A useless motion since it was Draco who teetered back by centimeters, before sweeping his remaining shreds of dignity into a haughty spin back towards the door. “You’ve been ruder this year alone, than all of the time I’ve known you. Minerva shouldn’t have allowed Potter to take over DADA classes. He’s clearly been a poor influence. Should’ve stayed with Weasley, Finnigan and their little band of merry red aprons,” he sniffed.  


“You two have seemed to get along just fine,” Neville muttered under his breath, clearing his throat and turning away at Draco’s raised brow. He drew his wand and an assortment of his own unlocking spells led to the same result. The greenhouse door refused to budge, by magic or manual force. All Neville had to show for it was a twinge in his shoulder and a scuff on his pride. And a pouty Draco.  


“It’s not opening. Tell your bloody plants to knock it off.”  


“It’s not my plants’ fault…” Neville rolled his eyes, blood turning cold when his gaze landed on the western wall of greenhouse three through the foggy glass. Someone had taken what looked like black muggle spray paint and written ‘50 points - 50 hours’. Oh, Salazar. He knew exactly who had trapped them inside. A rotten little shit who was probably laughing the entire train ride back to London right now.  


“Draco-” Neville began in his most placating tone.  


“We’re destined to die in here,” Draco mourned, casting a quick cushioning charm as he slid down to sprawl on the dirt. “This is penance for putting potions ahead of my children. I should’ve helped them onto the train. We took the easy way out, leaving them with Aurora and Potter. I-”  


“You’re right. If we’d seen the kids off, we wouldn’t’ve been cursed,” Neville nodded, his protego up and ready for the clods of dirt Draco’s wand sent his way.  


“What do you mean, we’ve been cursed?” Draco screeched, immediately on his feet and casting diagnostic charms on the door. The appearance of a vibrant red glow was discomforting.  


“Well not ‘we’ exactly,” Neville backtracked, approaching Draco slowly like one would a skittish animal. “It was meant for me and you just happened to be a casualty. Look,” he pointed to the blocky letters. “Ravenclaw was in the lead for the House cup until I deducted fifty points from Leon Stockbridge after that stunt he pulled on the second year girls. They’re against Slytherin for the final quidditch game and you know their odds of actually winning.”  


“Oh.” All of the fight and panic left Draco like a quickly deflating balloon. “So we weren’t cursed to be stuck in here together. Just us, by someone. Wanting us to be alone. With each other,” he word vomited in an unusually ineloquent manner, slim fingers twirling his wand and eyes glued to the soil. Draco… was antsy about being stuck in here. With Neville. _That_ was encouraging.  


“Yeah, sorry to ruin your weekend with my existence,” he spits out, his sarcasm too bitter to come off as humor. Merlin, Neville’s heart couldn’t take much more of this rollercoaster. Two years of tentative friendship under their apprenticeships, another four of a softening Draco and the will-we-or-won’t-we dance of chemistry and what he swore was flirtation. Then this year with Harry joining the staff and third-wheeling almost every interaction and bollocking the whole situation up.  


Draco had spent the first half of fall term sliding in and out of his practiced mask of cold politeness and prickly indignation. It was sixth year all over again until Minerva pulled them aside and gave them both a stern talking to. Reminded them of the adults they were supposed to be and gave them some sort of incentive to sort their shit out.  


It worked a bit too well, since today was the first time Draco and Neville had spent more than an hour in each other’s company, sans Harry. Now, they were gifted with another forty-five.  


“...You’re not ruining it,” Draco said quietly. He took a step closer to Neville, movements as measured as his words, as if unsure how welcome his touch would be. “You never ruin anything, Neville. Not for me.” A cloying smile curved up on Draco’s mouth, slow and dangerous to the breath in Neville’s lungs.  


“Yeah? Good to know for next time,” Neville said, his joke feeling insecure and falling flat. Following it up with an awkward shoulder bump that he typically used on Harry didn’t help shake the weird mood loose.  


“Hmm.” Draco smoothed out the ruffle in his robe’s wide neckline, his eyes careful not to meet Neville’s until the exact second to strike. “You plan on locking us up in other secluded places, then? Might I suggest somewhere with a more tolerable climate...my suite perhaps? I’m well stocked on Earl Grey,” he said in the same casual tone of voice he used to discuss the weather and newly purchased parchment.  


Merlin.  


“Merlin,” Neville coughed, “You’re- That’s- You mean. What?” Could extended exposure to tropical levels of humidity cause hallucinations? Was Draco actually propositioning Neville?  


Now?  


“You heard me the first time,” Draco said, the sweet warmth draining as his posture stiffened. “It’s where we’ve been heading all of this time. Or so, I had assumed. My apologies, Longbottom.”  


Neville hadn’t even realized the sheer extent to how open Draco had become around him until that moment where his face shuttered close and he returned to the cold armour of that first miserably formal week of working alongside each other. He couldn’t blame Harry or anyone now. This botched confession was his own mess.  


Draco was finally admitting to the unspoken interest in his own roundabout way and Neville was stomping all over it with his clumsy disbelief.  


“I dream about marrying you,” Neville blurted out.  


Draco dropped his fucking wand, his jaw making a determined effort to join it on the ground.  


Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. Maybe one day Neville could learn to use his bravery in more moderate increments… until then.  


“Because I fancy you, quite a lot. You’re very fit, your body is unbelievably... but it’s not just for that reason. You’re extremely smart and good with magic, with precision. Always have been. And you’ve…” Neville swallowed around the lump of feelings in his throat and wrapped his burly hands around Draco’s, slow and careful like the way he treated his delicate jasmine blooms.  


“You have changed - sincerely - in so many ways. The best ones. Really, Draco. We’ve all forgiven you here. We like you, I like you. Honestly. You. Only you.”  


Draco’s cheeks were pinker than last summer’s sunburn. Grey eyes misty and wide while his mouth gaped open until it noticeably clicked closed. “Oh.” He needed a minute to compose himself, slender hands trembling in Neville’s grasp. “This is far more acceptable than the snogging I was set to propose. Although your timing could have come sooner. I’m not too keen on our first time being in front of your voyeuristic dragon palms, but it seems we have no choice.” Draco tilted his chin high as he accio’ed his wand and stepped back.  


Then promptly diffindo’d Neville’s vest straight down the center. “Kiss me,” he ordered, brimming with that patented Malfoy poise.  


Every thread in Neville’s heart that had felt hollow and prone to breaking melted in the wave of relief as he cupped Draco’s face. “You’re still sort of spoiled. Lucky for you, I enjoy taking care of pretty, finicky things,” he chuckled. Neville swept a wide, calloused thumb over Draco’s plush lower lip. He was absolutely gone.  


“How dare you lump me in with your bloody plants,” Draco complained, the words disappearing into the air, swallowed up by Neville’s mouth pressed against his. The kiss was electric, alive, unfurling soft and sweet then blooming into a bright red heat, like flower petals under Neville’s patient magic.  


It was gentle, steadily growing, feelings laid bare until the point of overwhelming. Draco broke away to gasp into the skin of Neville’s throat. “Please,” he breathed, wiry arms slithering around Neville’s shoulders to help him rock up onto the balls of his feet and further close the distance for another kiss. “I only,” fingers curling into hair at the nape of his neck, “like you too.”  


“Promise?” Neville drew back as far as he could bear, only scant centimeters, Draco’s waist still firmly in his grasp. “I didn’t mean to throw marriage at you quite yet. Not exactly the way we were trained to go about it.” His brow raised with humor before he settled down into soberness. “I am serious. I’m- there’s only going to be you. Us. I deserve the same.”  


“I promise.” Draco licked his lips, his eyes on Neville’s kiss swollen mouth. “It’s only been you for quite some time now,” he admitted, his aristocratic drawl luring Neville closer. “I’ve stopped spending weekends in London, in case you haven’t noticed.”  


“Draco.” Neville pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. “That was after our first term assisting… You’ve liked me since then?” It made sense. He was at his most physically fit stage, the war hero shtick fresh in everyone’s mind. Neville had summoned the sword of Gryffindor after all, ending the absolute nightmare of Nagini. There was no shortage of admirers immediately post-war, the glamor of bagging Neville slowly dying down to normal after a couple of years. A couple of additional kilos.  


Draco struggled to maintain eye contact, blushing and squirming against his front. “Before then,” he said, burying the words in another kiss, shy in the face of Neville’s full attention. “Since school.” He unfastened his robes and slid them off. The distraction of it all slowed down his transfiguration of the robes into a plush blanket, levitated to spread out on the ground behind him.  


“Eighth year was good for all of us,” Neville agreed, running his hands up and down Draco’s back, from narrow shoulders to trim hips. Shivers echoed every line he traced over his clothes. He couldn’t believe it, finally allowed to touch, to learn every curve, every centimeter of skin.  


“Fifth.” Draco pulled Neville’s torn vest off and groaned at the sight of his bare chest. He skimmed his hands over exposed skin and generous chest hair, where his touch lingered before turning frantic once more.  


Until Neville laughed like an idiot. “Fifth year? Why?”  


Draco stepped back and unbuttoned his dress shirt with a scowl. “I said eighth. Shut up.”  


“No, you said fifth.” Neville tried to help with Draco’s belt buckle, only to have his hands slapped away with a petty huff. “Draco, c’mon. You can tell me. I didn’t mean to laugh at you… I’m just surprised. Surely you remember how awkward I was in fifth year. It was terrible. My shite haircut-”  


“You didn’t stay awkward.” Draco primly folded his shirt and set it on the corner of his transfigured blanket, removing his belt, shoes and socks next. “You grew taller than me.” Slender fingers deftly undid the placket of his trousers. “We were leaving double potions and Finnigan hit me with a tripping hex.” He shimmied out of the pinstriped material with a smirk, playfully batting away Neville’s second attempt to help undress him. “I fell face first into your broad as fuck chest and nearly died of embarrassment. And then you had the gall to help me up and straighten out my robes like nothing had happened. Asking if I was ‘alright, Malfoy?’ Concerned and...cute.”  


Left in nothing but tight black pants, Draco pulled his hair free from it’s bun and sprawled out on the blanket. Like an image pulled from the depths of Neville’s wank bank. “I was angry and randy all at once. It was horrible. I had to skip Charms so I could toss off. _Twice_.”  


“Bloody hell,” Neville choked, simply vanishing his clothes and shoes because he couldn't be bothered. He needed Draco now like air in his lungs. “Are you trying to kill me?” He kneeled down between Draco’s spread legs, palms warm on pale skin and sparse blond hair. “You’re such a wicked little thing, teasing me like this.” Neville pushed Draco’s thighs wider apart, inching closer, planting his hands on either side of the halo his hair made.  


“Neville, you know I’m not above doing anything necessary to get what I want,” Draco whispered like it was a secret meant just for Neville and not a known fact to everyone who knew him. “And that’s you,” he said, gripping broad shoulders to pull Neville down into another deep kiss.  


_You._  


Since fifth year, Draco had fancied Neville of all people. Not Harry, Dean or Blaise. Him.  


Neville tangled a hand in the long, white blond hair he’d wanted to tug on for ages, angling Draco’s head back so he could place open mouthed kisses down his throat. It sent heat like lightning running down every nerve under Neville’s skin. Perhaps Draco’s too. In the humid air, Draco writhed underneath him. Panted against Neville’s throat like a worn-out runner. Whimpered and raised his hips. Trailed a narrow foot up the back of Neville’s calf.  


It was a better reaction, better reality than any dream he’d previously had, imagining what their confession, their first time could be.  


Draco was affected. Face flushed, the skin around his mouth and chin blotchy red from stubble burn, pupils so dilated the ring of silver was barely noticeable.  


Neville wanted to take things slow their first time, worship every bit of skin, his scars and beauty marks. He was normally a patient man, but an aroused Draco Malfoy was lethal.  


With a scrape of teeth over Draco’s collarbone, Neville traveled down and sucked on a nipple, twisting the other until it felt puffy. He pulled the hem of Draco’s pants and let it snap back against his flat tummy, scratching nails in the faint treasure trail. “Wanted you like this for years,” Neville said, kissing his way lower at a snail's pace.  


“You have?” Draco asked, awe in his voice. One hand cradled Neville’s head and the other bunched up the fabric of his pants, restless fingers unable to slide them completely down. “Off, now,” he begged, his legs frenetic and unhelpful, underwear still tangled around his knees. “Want you on me.”  


After sucking a dark bruise on his hip, Neville sat up and tried to regulate his laboured breathing, eyes sliding all over Draco and the sinful picture he painted. He deliberately pulled Draco’s pants off, like a sheath of wrapping paper from a gift he had been waiting for and couldn’t believe was finally his to uncloak. Given freely to be cherished.  


Legs that went on for days, feverish hips rolling up to entice him. An average length cock, as skinny as the rest of him and slapping back to rest on his stomach. The crown a deep red and foreskin pulled back, slit already sticky with desire.  


Merlin, he wasn’t sure where to start.  


“Neville, fucking touch me, you torpid oaf,” Draco hissed, kicking his heel into Neville’s plump rear without an ounce of shame. He wrapped a hand around his neglected prick and stroked once, twice to spread the pre cum and tide himself over. Neville was embarrassingly in love with the prat for it.  


“Be nice,” he chided lightly, squeezing Draco’s thighs, muscles tense. “You’re beautiful...it’s overwhelming.” Neville bent over and caught his bitten lips in another kiss, soothing all complaints. “And you’re a bit mad if I’m honest. You keep twisting around like a mound of flobberworms in the bottom of a bucket.”  


“How dare you,” Draco said, smacking Neville on the back before digging his harsh nails in and scraping down to his arse. “I’m going to leave you here to wank off all by yourself.” Obviously an empty threat, his hips still grinding up into Neville’s, their cocks sliding together and trapped by Neville’s heavy stomach. Draco whined into the crook of his neck and groped his arse cheeks like a starved man, kneading and panting in equal measures.  


“No, you won’t,” Neville said, confident when casting a lubrication charm into his open palm. He rolled all of his weight onto one supportive forearm and snuck his slippery hand between their sweaty bodies. Meaty fingers closed around both cocks, providing a tight, warm channel for them to thrust into. He nipped at Draco’s ear, his jaw, his pouty lips. “You just like to throw a fit and moan until you’re given your way,” Neville chuckled, low and breathless against his cheekbone. “You think I haven’t figured you out after fifteen years, Draco?”  


“You pay attention to me,” Draco gasped, back arching.  


“You make it impossible not to.” Neville’s hand sped up, his sack drawing close, ready to empty. _Cream on porcelain._  


Merlin, Morgana and Circe’s cunt.  


“Please tell me you’re close,” Neville begged, squeezing the heads of their dicks on every pass.  


“Yes,” Draco choked, vibrating in need. “Come on me, smother me, ruin me, _Nev_.” His voice cracked as he jerked and came. Thin spurts of semen hit heaving ribs, easily smeared between them with the way Draco clung to Neville’s broad frame and squirmed.  


“Fuck.” Neville left Draco’s sensitive cock to lie on his stomach and tightened his fist around himself, eyes closed around the sweat dripping from his temples. “Next time I’m going to spill in that filthy mouth of yours. Or your arse.”  


“We have all weekend and magic to help us clean,” Draco said, running his hands up and down Neville’s girthy sides, giving him a luxurious squeeze. “Why not come on my face, _Professor_?”  


“Merlin, fuck,” Neville cursed, spilling into his hand and over Draco’s spent cock, shivering down to his very bones in ecstasy. He was going to die in this greenhouse and it would be Draco sodding Malfoy’s fault.  


“I wouldn’t mind you coming on my hair either,” Draco drawled with a smirk, trailing a hand over the combined mess on his skin, only to transfer the semen and lovingly smear it onto Neville’s ample belly. “Of course, you’d have to wash it out before it dries. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do. I know Gran Longbottom raised you right.”  


“Please don’t speak of my Gran while rubbing jizz on my stomach. She’d hex you if she knew,” Neville groaned, slumping down beside Draco. Death certainly awaited him.  


...And now _he_ was sounding like Draco.  


“There’s no reason to be so despondent, Neville,” Draco said, excited but winded as he cuddled up under Neville’s arm. “We have another forty-four hours to ourselves. I want to ride you in front of the Lotus flowers next. It’ll be symbolic.”  


_Merlin._


End file.
